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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589201">I Never Intended for This</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccahazza/pseuds/maccahazza'>maccahazza</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actor!Paul, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst, But there's switching though, Character Development, Director!John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Sexual Content Eventually, Slow Burn, Slow realization of lots of things, Tension, bottom!John, top!paul</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:55:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccahazza/pseuds/maccahazza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John Lennon, the director for his new upcoming film, meets inexperienced actor, Paul McCartney, who earns the lead to his film. John heavily despises Paul upon their first meeting. And without being able to make changes to the cast, John will have to bear working with Paul McCartney for the next three months. But with time, they both will see each other through a new lens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. You Can't Undo What Is Done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How would the ending of this film finish? Would it be the perfect ending where every single character gets to live out their happily ever after? That sounded wonderful in theory, but it may be too predictable from the audience's perspective. Or the ending could be unexpectedly sad, an end where every member in the audience would have tears running down their faces as their hearts would ache with agony. Now, that wouldn't be so predictable, mostly if the film was unproblematic and happy throughout, but it definitely would leave people scarred in their minds possibly. The last option could be both; an ending where it's both sunshine and rainbows as well as a thunderous storm brewing simultaneously.</p><p>All in all, John didn't have a clue as to what he wanted. Every single day of the director’s life, he never failed to come up with creative scenarios and ideas, but as of right now, he couldn't think of a damn thing, and that was frustrating him. The ending of his film was still up in the air. As someone who wanted to engrave himself a mighty name in the film industry, he needed something better than good and something better than sad. He knew his ending couldn't be a cliche; something people could see coming from miles away; he needed to write something different. And that “different” idea was still pondering in the man’s head. In John’s mind, the small sadistic area would love for people to leave the cinemas or drive-ins in a completely wrecked state and feeling so betrayed they wouldn't want to watch another film again. That would undoubtedly mark his movie as one of the best films in history. But how would he write his script in such a way? Now that was the part he lay stuck on.</p><p>John's head was leagues away in another world as he stared at his notes that he didn't see or hear the front door to his office opening, nor the gigantic man that was Mal Evans walking in. Startled by a loud thud, John shook slightly and finally glanced up to see the casting director looking down upon him. He looked back down at his mahogany desk to see the cause of the loud thud, which was a white binder that was fully stuffed with information that he didn't know of. And in all honesty, he didn't care to understand what was inside that binder, but he knew Mal would tell him anyway.</p><p>"May I help you, Mal?"</p><p>Though Mal was a big and tough guy, he was indeed only intimidated by John Lennon. Mal knew he could easily knock out his boss with one swing or kick if given a chance, but John’s intimidating persona made it seem impossible. Everyone in the studio was intimidated by him. The man never seemed happy or satisfied with anything, so his face showed no emotion or looked like he was pissed off every second of the day. His way of conversing was with wit and sarcasm unless he was speaking to someone of higher authority, then, of course, they got the special John treatment. Mal liked to think of him and John as "somewhat friends," which was why he didn't get total hell from him like most people around the office did.</p><p>So with that, Mal cleared his throat before he spoke, wanting to sound as professional as possible. "Yes, actually." Mal gestured to the binder on the desk. "This here stores all the information on the actors my team and I are thinking of auditioning for the film. If you'd like - <em> well, </em> it would be preferred - if you can take a look at it before we start auditions."</p><p>John did not care. If anything, the only thing he did care about was the ending of his movie! That's the only thing he wanted to exert his remaining energy for, not looking at a binder full of pages and pages of actors and actresses. Though John did have precise requirements for the actors that played his roles, he did not want to waste his precious time on that right now. "I'd rather not, Mal. My time is valuable, and this is not how I plan to use it. I suggest you show this binder to Brian. He would be more interested in that than I am right now."</p><p>Mal nodded frantically, not wanting to get on John's cranky side, especially when it was so late in the night. In the mornings, John would have some sort of appeal but certainly not at night. So Mal hurriedly grabbed the binder and his remaining confidence and headed toward the door.</p><p>"Wait!" John called out to the casting director. The tall man turned his head while his hand was on the knob to the door that was partially opened. "Just make sure you cast me big names, Mal. Big names equal more attention to the film. Got it?"</p><p>Again, Mal nodded. "Yes, Sir. My team and I will be sure to fulfill your demand."</p><p>With that, the man left, leaving John to drown in his thoughts once more. The now exhausted man looked to the left of the wall where his clock was hung to check the time. He would've checked his watch, but he was in a hurry this morning to get to work that he forgot it. He seemed to be in another world these days, most likely because it was almost time to shoot the film, and his mind remained all over the place. After seeing that it was eleven-thirty at night, he realized he should maybe head home. He didn't want to get home late, not after the argument he had with Cynthia the day before. The woman had gotten so upset over him coming late in the night. She had complained that having dinner by herself was lonely, and she'd rather have company as she ate. He came to an unwilling surrender and promised he would come home at a better time. However, John was completely surprised when his wife stood up to him. It was rare when she did that, but he supposed she had enough. Anyway, he was always told: Happy Wife, Happy Life. But, he had not seen much truth to that statement over the years.</p><p>The car ride home was the most relaxing thing he had experienced all day. First met with a chilling breeze as he left the building, his wool coat not being nearly enough to keep him warm. Then as he entered inside the car, he succumbed to the warmth the car heater brought onto him, which relaxed the tense muscles all over his body.</p><p>John turned on the radio. Listening to music on the radio was a great way to get his mind thinking in the most comforting way. A classical song started to play with little static rummaging in the background. Mainly an orchestra was involved, and it began to play bright, optimistic notes. It wasn't <em>too </em>much, but enough to let listeners know it was a happy beginning. John was pleased; his mind felt clear, and hopefully, a good enough idea would pop into his head.</p><p>Then, suddenly, the notes of the violins, violas, cellos, and basses dropped. It took John in for a ride. The melody swiftly turned dark and mysterious for the rest of the song, sort of like a plot-twist. It was good, though; John enjoyed the tune. It certainly got him thinking about his dilemma. His film <em>could </em>be like that - happy then the opposite of that word… sad? depressing? dark? His fingers tapped along the steering wheel as a new idea popped into his head.</p><p>He knew exactly how to end his film.</p><p>So it was no surprise that he wanted to get inside his home only to head to his office. As he slipped off his coat and shoes, tossing the keys in a glass bowl, he didn't care to think of his wife. Although he could've had dinner with Cynthia, his only goal was to sink his tired butt into his leather office chair and write out the ending to his film. However, it was no wonder when her voice paved the way through that thick skull of John's as he almost escaped into the hallway, causing him to stop in his tracks and look up. His wife was standing across from him, her arms folded and everything.</p><p>This must not be good, John thought. As he saw Cynthia's face, she didn't look angry, but more so disappointed. Honestly, he would rather his wife yell and shout at him and call him a lousy husband than stare at him with such a victimized face. It made him feel guilty, making him feel like he didn’t deserve every good thing that has happened to him in his life.</p><p>"Hi, Cynthia," John said in a tone that would hopefully make this conversation ten minutes less than it needs to be.</p><p>"Are you ready to eat? The plates are ready on the table."</p><p>John winced. Her voice was shy and weak, probably knowing her husband would deny her request for wanting dinner with him. The last time he'd eaten that day was maybe one o'clock in the afternoon, so he was hungry, but he was craving to work on his script more than to eat actual food. "I er... I've got to work on my script, love, for work. I promise you on the weekend I'll make time for you and me. I've just got to finish some paperwork."</p><p>John watched as Cynthia pursed her lips and nodded, not bothering to argue with him. It made him feel more of a dick, not being able to make his wife happy. Cynthia turned around and walked back into the kitchen, probably to store her husband's plate in the fridge. It was saddening to see her like that, but as soon as she was out of sight, he walked right into his office, and all the guilt vanished from him.</p><p>Slipping into the bedsheets almost two hours later, John was finally done with work. It was bewildering how much his work consumed him today.</p><p>John reached out to his right to set his glasses on the nightstand. He released a heavy, tired sigh as he rested his head onto his pillow, making himself comfortable for sleep. As he looked to his left, his eyes landed on a sleeping Cynthia. Again, the guilt couldn't help but take over him. She looked like an angel, a woman who needed nothing but love, but he couldn't provide that for her. The thought of scooting closer and cuddling her as they both slept was uncomfortable to him. He was her husband. That shouldn't be uncomfortable, right?</p><p>John turned over and away from Cynthia, disgusted with himself. He held on tightly to his blanket, gaining some of the comfort and warmth he wished he could have with his wife. Thoughts started to burden his mind like a never-ending nightmare. One in particular that he always seemed to be thinking lately: <em> I hope she's cheating on me. </em></p><p> </p><p>The last few weeks had been hell for the director. A couple of days after finishing the script, he caught a cold. John hated being sick with a burning passion. Not only was he not able to work, but when he was ill, he felt out of his own control. He couldn’t drive and head to the building where he worked and called most of the shots. Instead, he lay on his bed for the next 26 days and attempted to relax and get better. Though, with a stuffy nose and sore throat along with non-stop headaches, there was rarely any relaxation going on. Luckily, through those 26 days, his gracious wife helped him through it all. Cynthia regularly cooked delicious chicken soup, had a warm cloth always ready for his headaches, and picked up cough syrup at the pharmacy for his aching throat. It was no surprise to John that his wife cared for him deeply while he was sick. If there was one thing he admired of Cynthia, it was her unfailing love. Her heart had a natural way of showing people love. It always made him question how a woman like her stayed with a man like him. He didn't deserve her love. But her acts of service helped him through his sickness, which he was thankful for.</p><p>So it was also no surprise that Director John Lennon was in the chirpiest of moods as he walked through the doors of where they would start shooting his film. Even everyone around him wondered why he seemed extra giddy. They knew he would be in a good mood on the first day of shooting, but not this happy. Certainly, he must've found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow or possibly won the lottery on his way here. John didn't know why he seemed so optimistic either. He supposed it was Cynthia's love that rubbed off on him while he lay bedridden. Or the real reason may be that he could finally be back in the presence of where he held the most authority.</p><p>Either way, life couldn't get any better.</p><p>Due to John being out of work for a few weeks, he was unable to meet the cast. He remembered vaguely of the phone call he had with producer Brian Epstein of who the actors would be for his movie, but he was so sick and unfazed by anyone's words that he didn't remember. Plus, he rejected the clipboard listing all of the cast members as he walked into the building because he wanted it to be a surprise, seeing who would play who. He silently hoped for Marlon Brando or Audrey Hepburn to be in one of those trailers in the back getting ready to film. A big name like theirs (and their acting skills) would automatically give John a boost in the box office. If not them, then some other widely known actor or actress would do. </p><p>Seeing one of the trailers, he walked up closer to it and saw the name splattered boldly across the door: Dawn Bender <em> as </em> "Diana Newton." John grinned. He had always been a big fan of Dawn Bender. He had viewed some of her films and adored them! Her acting was phenomenal, and he couldn't wait to work with her. Now that he thought about it, she had the face of someone who could appear innocent, but a smart man could quickly tell there was something cynical about her, which was perfect for her role. John so badly wanted to barge in her trailer and greet her with the uttermost kindness and tell her he would be excited to work with her, but he had no time to do that right now.</p><p>John moved along to another trailer. Hopefully, it would be the trailer that belonged to whoever would be playing Oliver White - the lead male in his movie that would eventually fall for Diana Newton. As he proudly looked at the name signed on the front metal door, he immediately squinted his eyes, and his nose scrunched up. Maybe it was the sun glaring on the sign because he definitely read that name wrong. So he blinked again and moved closer to the door. "Paul... Paul McCartney?" He asked himself confusedly. <em> Who the hell is Paul McCartney? </em> That was a name he had never heard of. That was a name that would never look good on a movie poster because, well... he'd never heard of this guy! John was a director, and he knew almost all of the actors and actresses who roamed the earth, so he would be certain enough to know who Paul McCartney would be.</p><p>John felt like ripping his hair out as he read that damn name over and over again. He wanted to run and find Mal and force him to explain why he would ever cast an unknown to his movie. It was utterly disrespectful that Mal and his team felt so low of his film that they cast a man that the world has never heard of! <em> 'Don't they know who I am?' </em>John thought to himself.</p><p>Groaning, he put his hand on the door handle to the trailer and yanked it open. He would find this Paul McCartney and maybe yell at him for even accepting the offer to his movie. Then he would yell at Mal for even thinking of offering this person the lead role in his film. Then he would go back to Paul and fire him and hire a deserving actor to play Oliver White.</p><p>So much for a chirping mood.</p><p>"Are you Paul McCartney?" John asked bitterly, leaving no filter behind as he pointed threateningly at a terse man who had a few makeup brushes in his right hand and a hairbrush in the other. </p><p>The man seemed to be very scared by John's presence and replied, "I'm only the makeup artist."</p><p>Rolling his eyes, John shoved past the makeup artist and went further down the trailer. He stopped another man who was exiting the small bathroom. "Paul McCartney?"</p><p>The man didn't bother to reply, only pointing further down the trailer. Jesus. He didn't remember these trailers being so fucking long. But finally, heading to the end of the trailer with the last room, John stood before three men. Not caring to analyze them closely, he spoke, "Which one is Paul McCartney?" It was in an inpatient tone he spoke with, but he didn't care.</p><p>Then a voice that was pitched low and sounded so eloquently and silky replied, "That would be me," which caused John to avert his eyes to the far left of the room. There stood a young man who was about his height, maybe taller by a centimeter. The man's hair was raven black, and it seemed thick and soft by the looks of it. John then stared right into his eyes, seeing how they were so big and drooped downward while his long eyelashes batted beautifully with every blink. His nose was long and thin, sculpted pointedly in a way, followed along with his lips. They were a soft pink color held with a voluminous shape. Well. Well... the man certainly seemed nice-looking<em>. </em>He could definitely turn the heads of every lady, maybe even the married ones. But.. but that wasn't the point! Sure, he was pretty. Pretty for a man, yeah, but he didn't hold a name for himself. If he did, then John would've run in and greeted him with kisses and hugs along with ingots of gold instead.</p><p>John walked closer to Paul, giving him a stern look. "Tell me, son, what other films have you acted in?"</p><p>Paul didn't seem intimidated at all, which surprised the director. Typically, anyone John tried to be more superior towards worked.</p><p>"This will be my first one, actually."</p><p>John emitted a short, dry laugh, trying to indicate that Paul was only a fool. The director would have this kid gone five minutes from now. Any dream this boy had of becoming the next Marlon Brando was gone. This was not the right movie to let unknown people play prominent roles. That would be stupid.</p><p>"Really? First one? Okay, sure." </p><p>John briefly looked around the small room again and then nodded his head as a goodbye gesture and left the room without saying anything else. Meeting the rest of the cast would have to wait until he found Mal.</p><p>Mal ended up being by the snack table, smiling and eating away at the food while someone else was speaking to him from across the table. John hated seeing that smile on Mal's face, knowing damn well he went against his wishes for the casting. How dare he do that to <em>his </em>boss. Someone around here needed to show him that he couldn't just disobey the demands of people above him.</p><p>"Mal!" John shouted from across the room; he hadn't even reached the man yet but was too impatient to wait. "Why the hell did you think it was okay to cast a man with the name of Paul McCartney to my movie? He's an unknown, for Christ sake! Give me a good fucking reason why you did that!" He yelled, finally standing in front of Mal. </p><p>Mal’s eyes roamed over the entire room to see all eyes on him and John. <em> Great</em>. Anyway, he should've seen this coming from hiring a man like Paul McCartney - inexperienced and unqualified for a role in a big-time motion film like this one. Even his team tried to convince him not to; they even understood John's persistent demand in only hiring big-name actors. But what did he do? Not listen. And now, he would just have to deal with the director’s wrath.</p><p>"Mr. Lennon," Mal started. "I understand you're upset. I realize this, yes, but I made this decision with rational reasoning." His boss stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. "You see, I came across Paul in a bar, and we had a drink or two, then he expressed to me how he was a hopeless actor trying to find work. I honestly felt bad for the lad, so I let him read a couple of lines from the script, and I thought he was alright. Then I hired him as Oliver."</p><p>John scoffed in total disbelief that Mal would do something like that. This fool of a man knew how important this film is to him, so why make such a stupid decision without consulting the director?! "Listen, Mal. We don't run a fucking charity around here. I don't know why you made that choice yourself. So, if you hired him, then I'll fire him. Simple fix."</p><p>Before John could storm off and fulfill his own request, Mal stopped him. "John?"</p><p>"What?" John asked irritably as he turned around to face the man again.</p><p>"You...You can't fire Paul McCartney."</p><p>As if this couldn't get any worse.</p><p>"And why fucking not, Mal? Why can't I, the director of this damn film, fire him?"</p><p>"His contract. The only way to override the contract is if the casting director, director, and producer agree to fire him and pay him the full amount he was promised."</p><p>"Ah yes, the holy trinity. Well, that should be easy. I fire him. You fire him. And then Brian fires him. And paying him the full amount will be a fucking waste of money toward the budget, but it's better than having him in the goddamn movie!"</p><p>Mal could clearly see his boss fuming with anger. If he focused closely enough, he could visualize the steam blowing out of John's ears; his death stare could kill anyone in his sight as well.</p><p>"Mr. Epstein has taken a liking to Paul. I highly doubt he would be willing to fire him."</p><p>"Of course he has," John muttered to himself quietly and bitterly. A heavy sigh elicited between his lips, knowing he was at a defeat. There was no other way to overrule the actor's contract. A contract was a contract. Unless he convinced Brian to partake in firing the man, but that would be unlikely. But he could try. "Fine. Paul will remain as Oliver for now.” John glanced at his watch. “I reckon we have to start filming in a bit, so I'll introduce myself to the rest of the cast." He walked away from Mal without saying another word. If he did, he might've said something he wouldn’t have meant. However, he kept telling himself that he would later persuade Brian to fire Paul.</p><p> </p><p>Filming began an hour later. The first few shots that needed to be filmed were located in Oliver White's home. In the first scene, the lights would go out all around the house (also the rest of the neighborhood), which meant Oliver would look for candles for a source of light. In the process, he meets his love interest, Diana Newton (played by Dawn Bender), when she comes knocking on his door.</p><p>John supposed this was his second favorite scene. Even if it didn't look like it, he loved love. And though he didn't want Paul acting in his film and still planned on having him fired, he decided to stick it out for the first day of shooting. Maybe, just maybe, Paul McCartney could be the next James Dean or Marlon Brando. John wasn't blind and had seen how striking Paul was for the first few minutes he got to see him. If Paul's acting was up to par, then he could possibly rethink things. <em> Possibly</em>.</p><p>Everyone was getting into place - another process John loved to see. The film crew had their cameras set up, ready to shoot all of the scene's angles. The actors were reading and looking at their scripts once more before cameras started rolling. And so he sat his butt comfortably on his chair that sewed the word: DIRECTOR on the back and gripped the megaphone in his right hand tightly. This was the day he'd been ready to live out for months, and all of the adrenaline was pumping through his blood as if he was prepared to take on a fight with Rocky Marciano <em>or </em> Mal. </p><p>The first scene they chose to shoot took place in Oliver's bedroom. So John watched as Paul made himself comfortable on the bed, shirtless, in the makeshift bedroom and held a book to act as if he were reading.</p><p>John held the megaphone up to his mouth and yelled advice out to Paul. "Relax yourself and act naturally, McCartney!" Those words, <em> hopefully</em>, embedded permanently in the young man’s head. In response, the actor looked up at him and nodded to show his understanding.</p><p>After different crew members said initiating words such as "pictures up," "rolling sound," "rolling," and "set," everyone now waited on John. No doubt, a shudder of excitement ran through his spine as the quietness of the building took over, waiting for his special word. He was in control, and he loved it.</p><p>John sat up in his chair and held the large megaphone toward his lips. "<em> And </em> action!" A cocky grin never failed to lay on his mouth as he said those words.</p><p>The cameras began rolling, capturing the sight of Paul on the bed. John watched attentively as the young actor lay on the bed, flipping mindlessly through the pages of the book. <em> Oliver's </em>eyes were scanning through each word of the pages. But John took note of how he was reading too quickly as he turned each sheet. His eyes then averted to the actor's feet. They were nervously moving up and down.</p><p>
  <em> Doesn't this man know how to fucking relax?  </em>
</p><p>On John's clipboard, he wrote critiques of what Paul needed to work on because he seemed to be nervous, not knowing how to make all of his anxieties disappear before the cameras started rolling. If anything, Paul was making this easier for him. All of these horrible acting skills of his will be useful and to John's advantage for persuading Brian to partake in firing him.</p><p>But just for today, John would have to deal with it, so he continued watching.</p><p>As Oliver was in the middle of reading the book, the lightbulb in the room went out. John pursed his lips as he expertly studied the expression shift on the actor's face. He went from a state of calmness to being shocked in an instant, and it also seemed genuine. He took note of how Paul's acting skills were, <em> surprisingly</em>, not <em>all </em>terrible. Maybe there was hope for this young boy in the acting industry if he took a damn acting class. But... what if he did and this was the best he could do? Then John truly felt bad for the lad.</p><p>After the light went out, Oliver went up from his bed, swinging his arms around the dark room, touching familiar objects to be sure of his surroundings. Once he successfully left his room, he called out for his brother, Jack White (played by Buzz Henry), but there was no response, so he figured he was sleeping or just giving him the silent treatment. Oliver then started an attempt toward the kitchen in hopes of finding a candle and a match there.</p><p>As he rummaged through the cupboards and drawers with nearly no light, he managed to find a match but then needed a candle. Within a little amount of time, he had a white lit candle in his hand, allowing him to see a bit of his radius. </p><p>Oliver decided he wanted to check on his brother Jack, but before he could, there was a knock on the door, so he turned around and walked to the front door.</p><p>Seeing all of this through the director's eyes, John was slightly amused. Probably more amused if it weren't for Paul acting as Oliver. By now, he was almost at the bottom of his yellow note pad filled with minor and major critiques for the fellow actor he was watching. </p><p>Continuing, John watched as Oliver began opening the door, revealing Diana Newton, who would soon be Oliver's love interest. Right now, this was going to be the starting point of their relationship, and John was internally very excited.</p><p>"Hi! I'm Diana!" The girl started, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear (as scripted). "I'm a few doors down, and my family sent me to find... matches? The lights went out, and we have candles, but we need matches. So, er— do you have any we could borrow by any chance?"</p><p>Amazing! John thought. Even before he met Dawn Bender, he was a massive fan of her already, and she was portraying her talent exceptionally well. He was amazed.</p><p>John continues seeing as Oliver chuckled a bit, rubbing the nape of his neck, before replying, "Erm, well, it's nice to meet you, Diana. I'm Oliver. But um, yes, we have matches. I'll— I'll go get them, just stay here."</p><p>Once Oliver came back from the kitchen and stood at the doorstep in front of Diana, there was a silence between the two. An unscripted silence. <em> Meaning </em>someone was supposed to say their line. Also meaning, someone forgot their line. And John had a good idea of who it was since he knew the script by heart.</p><p>Paul stood there with the matches in his hand, staying silent, thinking of what he was supposed to say next. No amount of rushed thinking could get him to remember his next line, so instead of standing there like an idiot, he finally mustered to say, "I forgot my line," out loud.</p><p>Then John yelled, "Cut!"</p><p>Angrily, the director thought, this is going to be a long fucking day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Skies Are Far From Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“God. <em> Because of </em> Brian! He— He doesn’t know how to act! A pretty face doesn’t last much in the fucking industry if he can’t do his job correctly! You should have seen the kid for yourself, he messed up every line of his, wasting everyone’s time!” </p>
<p>John had gone off on a tangent as he tried to convince the producer to fire Paul while he flailed his arms in the air like a little kid throwing a tantrum. At this point, his cheeks were burning red and his voice had been cracking through some words, but loud enough to scorch through the walls of Brian’s office and throughout the whole building. Pretty much everyone had left at this time of day, so being obnoxious wasn’t one of John's worries right now. </p>
<p>While he had been complaining rather than persuading through his insufferable speech, Brian had been sitting patiently with folded hands in his leather chair, not wanting to listen to this nonsense no more. He had sighed and started thinking of a response while his eyes shut for a brief second. “John… Look, I need you to start being rational, okay? I understand your concerns with Paul, but that is why you, as a director, need to work with the boy and help him improve.”</p>
<p>John rolled his eyes in annoyance. “You’re not <em> listening— </em>” </p>
<p>“Yes, I have listened to you, John, and you make absolutely no sense. And you also need to understand why I am not even thinking about firing Paul.” Brian sat up in his chair, leaning toward John, his face becoming more serious. “I see in Paul what I saw in you.” </p>
<p>John leaned back in the chair, allowing him to sink into the cushion that had the support he needed after hearing that confession. After a few moments of trying to wrap his head after what Brian said, he finally understood what to make of that. “Brian… that— that is not the same thing. That is <em> absolutely </em> not the same thing.” </p>
<p>“Isn’t it though, John? Because, if I can remember clearly, three years ago, I found a failing director roaming the streets in a terrible, drunken state, crying out for some type of help. Was that not you, John? Wasn’t it you who needed a miracle, who needed a job?” </p>
<p>John’s nails were subconsciously scratching into the wooden arms of the chair, out of the nervousness he was feeling because he <em>did </em>remember. Those memories were embedded in his head for the rest of his life without choice. The succumbing feeling of darkness and emptiness took over his body again, making his limbs feel weaker than ever. The void that he felt all those years ago of complete numbness came back to him in an instant. The feeling of being scared and helpless was horrible to experience again, making him feel like a lost little boy. God. Did Brian really have to bring that up? </p>
<p>“That’s… T-That’s not the same, Brian. It just isn’t. I… I actually needed the fucking help, he just happened to have a pretty face that Mal saw fit.” </p>
<p>“You’re a stubborn one, John. The whole world knows that. But I need you to give Paul a chance, just like I gave you one that night. I see potential in him, and I need you to see that too.” </p>
<p>John huffed, standing up in a slumped manner, indicating defeat. His heavy footsteps reached the door, but he turned his head slightly, meeting Brian’s eyes. “So that’s a no, then?” </p>
<p>Yet to open his mind and understand Brian’s point of view, he walked back to the direction of his office with a fueled anger burning inside of him. If he would’ve known that Brian would’ve said no, even with that beautiful speech he presented, he wouldn’t have tried. He only made himself look like a fool in the process. He was convinced that it was Paul’s pretty face that saved his ass. Without it, he was sure he could’ve booted the younger man long before the first take of the film. </p>
<p>With John’s hand almost touching the knob to his door and coming inside his haven to where he could dwell in his frustration, he heard a voice calling him. The voice was far too distant to make out who it could be. He just wanted to ignore it and go inside, but he turned his head to see Paul jogging to him. </p>
<p>
  <em>And as if this day couldn’t get any better. </em>
</p>
<p>“John,” Paul called out with a pant in his voice. “John, I’m glad I found you. I- I wanted to talk to you about… about something.” </p>
<p><em>About quitting the movie, I hope</em>. But instead, he bit his tongue and watched as the young man was trying to catch his breath. He was panting a bit and his glossed lips were slightly gaped open with tiny breaths escaping as he exhaled each time. His hair was drenched in a bit of sweat, which sort of covered his hazel eyes lightly, and for some reason, gave John a sudden urge to brush it out the way with his fingers. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and shook his head once he realized what he was thinking. He quickly cleared his throat and replied: “First, you <em>only </em>ever refer to me as Mr. Lennon. Second, what the hell do you want to talk about?” </p>
<p>“I apologize, Mr. Lennon. I uh… I wanted to talk to you about today’s shoot. I know that I didn’t do my best, and I was wondering if you could give me some critiques or notes on what I need to do better.” </p>
<p>John looked at him and gazed intensely into his eyes. Those eyes held such optimism, so much that Paul didn’t realize he was about to have his dreams crushed in a matter of seconds. John didn’t either, but he remembered the problems that arose when he was talking with Brian and the problems he would have in the future all because of this boy who didn’t know how to do his job. </p>
<p>“Critiques couldn’t help you in the slightest, son!” John responded in a sarcastic tone, ending that question in a mock laugh. “Nor could anyone else help those shit acting skills of yours! <em> But</em>, if I did have to offer you one bit of advice, it would be to quit the movie and move on to another job that is willing to hire that pretty face of yours without you selling them a sob story!” With that, he didn’t take another look at Paul’s face and rushed into his office, slamming the door violently which vibrated throughout the thin walls. </p>
<p>
  <em>If Paul McCartney wanted advice. Too bad. Fuck him. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later on, John was sunken into his brown leather chair, twiddling his thumbs in his lap, staring into the abyss. The sound of the grandfather clock was intruding his mind now and then, but the guilt inside him was distracting him even more. Looking back on how he talked to Paul, he realized how harsh he was being. He was just asking for tips on how to be better, and John, the director, didn’t give him any due to his stubbornness and instead lashed out on him like he was a fucking punching bag. </p>
<p>And what Brian told him earlier wasn’t helping the part of John that was meant to be cold as ice. Looking back, the older man did give him a second chance at life, essentially. Without him, he would still be roaming the sidewalks of downtown London with a bourbon clutched in his hand, spent on with the last few quid he owned. His dreams of being a director would’ve been lost and forcefully thrown out if it weren’t for Brian. </p>
<p>A heavy sigh emitted from John, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. Once he could see clearly again, he admitted to himself that he needed to apologize to Paul. <em> Apologize </em> - something he rarely did. Even if the pertinacious part of himself didn’t want to, he needed to. What was a director without some sort of professionalism? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>John started waking in the direction of the trailers in the back of the building. His steps turned brisk, not wanting to miss Paul and have to wait until tomorrow to apologize. Before he left his office, the time had been a quarter till six, so it was a possibility he could have left. Especially after being yelled at, who wouldn’t want to leave? </p>
<p>John could hear a bit of mumbling as he was walking, so he turned to see what that was about. He forgot to put his glasses back on when he was in his office, so he couldn’t see a damn thing - squinting couldn’t even help. Unable to make out what the hell he was looking at, his footsteps turned in the direction toward the muffled sounds. </p>
<p>A man was pacing back and forth, looking down at something in his hand, and talking to himself. John finally realized he ended up back on set. And the man he was looking at had black hair, fairly tall, and fair skin— Oh. It was Paul. Of course, it was him. Why would the universe have it any different? As he watched him, he instantly felt more regret for yelling at him. The poor guy was re-reading his script over and over to probably embed it into his head, so he didn’t mess up anymore. </p>
<p>Paul didn’t notice John was right in front of him until the older man coughed intentionally loud to make his presence known. He dug his nose out of his script and looked up as if someone flashed their headlights at him. </p>
<p>“Paul.” John stood there nervously, awkwardly crossing his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him this nervous. </p>
<p>Paul, on the other hand, didn’t seem nervous at all. His expression came off as neutral, unreadable too as if there wasn’t anything wrong. “Mr. Lennon. I was just reading some of my lines to, y’know… memorize them.”</p>
<p>“I see,” John responded. “You need all the practice you can get.” </p>
<p>Paul nodded. </p>
<p>John sighed. “Look. I... I want to apologize for what I said to you earlier. It was completely wrong of me, and if I could take it back, I would.” He proceeded to inch closer to Paul. “As your director, I should be helping you establish better skills as an actor for this and future films you do. And, if you would like, I could give you those critiques you wanted.” </p>
<p>The younger man kept a straight face, but kept on biting his lower lip as a nervous tic he couldn’t help. Taking a brief look at his and John’s surroundings, he parted his lips slightly. “Uh, yes, I would like to see those actually.” </p>
<p>John reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out the same piece of paper he used to write down notes during the first take. “This is everything you did wrong today. I would’ve written down more notes, but I didn’t want to waste any more of my paper,” he muttered, giving the paper to Paul, briefly touching his fingertips in the process, which for some reason, made John confused. It was the first time he physically touched the man. It might’ve been a tiny moment that could’ve been forgotten in seconds, but for some reason, John chose to store that feeling. </p>
<p>Paul looked down at the yellow-lined paper, his eyes moving from one word to another at a quick pace. “I was nervous during the first scene?” He questioned with his eyebrows furrowed and looking directly at John. </p>
<p>“Yes, you were. You don’t know how to relax, it seems like.” </p>
<p>After a few seconds, Paul looked up but kept switching off between John and the floor. “Well… could I do that scene right now? For practice? And you could, y’know, freely criticize me if you’re okay with it, of course,” he suggested, chuckling warily while rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. </p>
<p>John didn’t know how to respond. He only watched as Paul’s confidence spiraled down a staircase, his posture slugging and his eyes not remaining at one thing at a time. Paul probably thought that he would yell at him again, which John didn’t want him to think. He didn’t want him to think of him as some kind of monster who always goes blowing his head off when he’s angry. So he surprisingly gave him a friendly smile. “Sure. We can do that. I can’t be available for long though, the wife expects me home soon.” </p>
<p>Paul raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “Of course. Can’t disappoint her.”</p>
<p>Paul sat upright against the headboard of the staged bed, holding ‘A Midnight Summer’s Dream,’ in his hands. Once he was done preparing, he moved his gaze to find John, who was already staring at him. </p>
<p>“Are you going to call out action?”</p>
<p>John shook his head, stifling a laugh in the process. “Uh- sure. Why not.” Though he didn’t have the same energy and charisma as he did in the morning, he sat up in his director’s chair and managed to yell not too loud. “And act—”</p>
<p>“Wait!” Paul interrupted. “The lights. How am I supposed to know if they’ve gone out?” Without any of the crew there, there was no way that during this little practice scene that there was going to be any cue of the lights going out. So John thought a little bit of what he could do. He thought about manually doing it himself, but that would be too much work, plus, he wouldn’t be able to see any of Paul’s mannerisms. “Uh. I’ll just call lights. That’ll be enough for now. Are you good now?” </p>
<p>Paul uttered a tiny, nervous chuckle, nodding slightly. “Yes, I am.” </p>
<p>“Right.” John, once again, prepared his throat and called out “Action!” </p>
<p>As the first few seconds went by, John took this little session of theirs very seriously. His eyes squinted to heighten his vision a little - making up for forgetting his glasses earlier - and his lips tightened in a thin line as he focused in on Paul. He was sitting up on the bed, his body lightly sinking into the mattress. Paul’s intense gaze roamed each word of the book he was holding and looked as if he were actually reading it and made it more believable as his eyebrows crinkled in concentration. His lips were gaped open, making it look like he was interested in whatever Shakespeare had written within those pages.</p>
<p>John was in subconscious awe as he finally realized that Paul was actually not doing terribly. However, that didn’t save him from any other descriptive critiques of his. Paul’s chest was rising up and down at an unreasonable pace, making it seem like someone was pointing a gun at his head, forcing him to read. Then there were his feet, it was like there was a tic in those damn feet of his that he couldn’t stop shaking them every three seconds. </p>
<p>“Cut!” John called out, standing up and already making his way toward Paul. “You haven’t done horrible, yet, but you still need to relax. You make it seem like someone is forcing you to read that book.” </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Paul ashamedly apologized, bowing his head down. “I can’t seem to shake these damn nerves off.” </p>
<p>“And why not?” John questioned, stepping closer to the foot of the bed. </p>
<p>Paul shrugged, still setting his gaze on the book. “I don’t know. When I practice by myself in my room, I’m good! I swear! But I find myself losing all that when there are tens of cameras right in front of me. And you don’t help either, no offense.” </p>
<p>“Well I am the director, I’m not meant to be anyone’s friend around here.” John decided to make a move and sit on the edge of the bed next to Paul, shifting the weight of the mattress. “But for right now, I’ll be your... <em> friend </em>because you need to calm yourself a little, is that alright?”</p>
<p>Paul nodded slowly in reply, locking eyes with John, staring intensely into him. “Yeah… that’s alright.” </p>
<p>John nodded as well, then he lifted his hand from the comforter and carefully placed it on top of Paul’s chest, which was beating too hard for his liking. “See. This is what I mean. See how you’re thinking too much? It makes you worried, and you start to breathe too hard. Just relax, yeah? It’s only me anyway, no one else.” </p>
<p>Paul’s lips gaped open as he continued to stare at John. He didn’t know one's gaze could be so soft and comforting - <em> especially </em> John’s - and he didn’t think a man like him could hold such vulnerable eyes. And within seconds, he felt the pace of his breathing slowing down. “Thank you.” </p>
<p>“Don’t mention it, I’m meant to help you,” John responded, lifting the corner of his lip into an encouraging half-smile. “And as for your feet, just stop fucking moving them.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, sorry about that. I… I think I’m good now.” </p>
<p>“Yes, well, it’s about damn time,” John replied, going back to his chair. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>take in this small moment of mclennon because it might not happen until the next few chapters... 0_o</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An Actor Walks Into a Bar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you to everyone who's reading this so far. i hope you all like this chapter :)<br/>and it's weird because i'm pretty sure i read through this chapter for mistakes, but now i can't remember if that was a dream or not. so excuse any errors :))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the third day of filming this movie, and Paul still needed all the help he could get. The number of takes they had to redo because of him was endless that John had lost count. His patience was running dry with the boy, but he had to keep forcing himself to see what Brian saw in himself, which was difficult to do when Paul would mistakenly say one of the actors’ names instead of their character name during a take. Though his nerves had gotten better, John had to admit, he still had to pull him aside and give him a “pep-talk” before another scene began, which would help a little. </p><p>During everyone’s thirty-minute break, John had to use the restroom. After doing his business, he started washing his hands with cold water coming down from the faucet. As the refreshing feel of the liquid cleaned his hands, he began to think. Think of Paul. He thought of the earlier takes that began at sunset. The one take of where Paul’s character, Oliver, received an informative letter of being drafted into the war was okay. It could’ve been better if he knew how to maybe show a little bit of emotion, and not that he didn’t, but not in the way John needed it to happen, not even after three takes of that damn scene. Paul’s eyes didn’t even water. So John had already scheduled a talk with him after everything had been wrapped up. </p><p>John was so far into his head that he didn’t even realize that the water had been running for three minutes. Once he did, he quickly turned the knob off and turned to his left to grab a paper towel. </p><p>“All right there, John?” A man’s voice echoed into the bathroom, causing John to jump and curse out loud. “You scared the shit out of me, Mal,” the scared man responded as he continued wiping his hands free of any water still there. </p><p>“Sorry, you just seemed out of it.” </p><p>“Just thinking.” </p><p>Mal pursed his lips as he leaned against the wall, staring at the ground. “Are you still okay with everything? With Paul?” </p><p>John sighed, pondering on that question. He wasn’t sure of the answer. Maybe he will be one of these days, or possibly, <em> never</em>. “Not sure. I guess it all takes time.”</p><p>Mal nodded, understanding to an extent of what he said. It was surprising to him that there was a possibility that John didn’t hate Paul entirely. Maybe he just needed to grow on John. But a small part of Mal thinks that could be far-fetched. “If… If you had the chance to cast another Oliver right now, would you?” </p><p>John threw the paper towel in the trash before replying with: “In a heartbeat.” He brushed past Mal and exited the restroom without any other word. </p><p>When John left the restroom and started walking back to the studio, he immediately heard a ruckus from the distance, causing him to walk a bit faster. When he arrived at where the noise was coming from - which was the snack bar - he was viewed with the image of Paul and James Stewart, who played Oliver’s dad in the film, arguing over something. And if it was near the snack bar where they were fighting, then the reason for all of this had to be pointless, John thought. </p><p>“You saw me! I know you saw me coming and eyeing the croissant! Don’t be daft, son!” James had yelled into Paul’s face, leaving no personal room between them. </p><p>“Don’t fucking call me that! I ain’t your son, James, and I <em> didn’t </em>see you coming over here! If you’d like, I can cough it back up for you and shove it down your throat!” Paul yelled back with just as much anger as James, and if not, more. The seething expression Paul had worn surprised John as he briefly observed from a distance, feeling like he was staring at a completely different person. </p><p>“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” John finally asked as he stood before the two men. “My fucking head’s going to explode with all of your yelling.” </p><p>James scoffed at Paul before turning to the director with a smug look on his face as if there was some sort of predicted victory for him. “What’s going on? This fool here took the last croissant, John, knowing damn well I was coming for it. And then he dares to eat it right in front of me. Then he threatens to cough it back up and shove it down my throat!” </p><p>John’s eyes widened in surprise that Paul had said that. It was unexpected and… funny? So funny that he had to swallow the laugh that was forming in his throat. But instead, he kept on a straight face. “<em> First</em>, James, you refer to me as Mr. Lennon just as everyone else does around here. And second, there are plenty of other choices to choose from other than a damn croissant. And third, I highly doubt that Paul saw you coming, I know he wouldn’t do something like that on purpose.” </p><p>James wasn’t at all expecting that response. He was expecting the director to take the side of a well-known actor in the field rather than some boy who no one knew of his existence. In James’s eyes, Paul was scum, so he expected John to treat him as such. But he was wrong. </p><p>“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Lennon. My apologies,” James said, turning to Paul and briefly nodding (but secretly holding back a glare) at him to give him silent apologies as well. He grabbed the nearest donut and walked off, causing everyone around them to turn their heads back to what they were doing before the outburst happened. </p><p>“Uh… thank you,” Paul began with a slight wrinkle in between his eyebrows. He was slightly confused and was asking himself why John had defended him. If anything, Paul automatically assumed that his boss would’ve yelled at him for upsetting one of his colleagues. There was a good feeling floating in his stomach from that. Maybe John was starting to like him. </p><p>“I suggest you don’t get yourself into something like that again,” John responded in a serious tone. “James Stewart isn’t someone you want to get nasty with or any other actor for that matter. You don’t know if he can give in a bad word about you for the next film you could land. So don’t thank me for saving your arse, Paul. And if I were you, I would apologize, even if you weren’t in the wrong.” </p><p>“Right…” Paul muttered quietly, the good feeling in his stomach deflating quicker than he could imagine. But he tried to suppress his disappointment with a small joke: “Maybe I’ll even surprise him with a box of croissants then.” </p><p>John let his guard down for a moment, not even realizing he was doing so and smiled warmly. “He’ll only accept them if they’re shipped from Paris. The lad is a sucker for that city.” </p><p>“Paris, huh? I wouldn’t know how to do that, never even been over there.” </p><p>“Well. That makes two of us,” John hummed, turning to meet Paul’s gaze for a brief moment. The two stared into each other’s eyes, finding themselves slowly both slipping away from the realm of their reality. John furrowed his eyebrows as he continued to stare into those droopy, hazel eyes, cocking his head to the side and parting his lips a little. He had a thought conjured up in his head, but before he could say anything, someone called his name from afar, taking them both out of their trances. </p><p>John turned his head in the direction of the voice to see George Harrison, the set designer. He was the man responsible for all of the outfits for every character. He was also his childhood friend - growing up together in Liverpool with each other, which was why he meant so dearly to John. It was the only reason why he had this job anyway. </p><p>Without the help of John, he would still probably be waiting tables back in his mother’s restaurant, making far less pay than he was here. George always made it known to his older friend that he was forever indebted to him. </p><p>“John! John!” George exhaled as he jogged up to him. “I was looking everywhere for you, you idiot.” He glanced over at the table of snacks to his right shaking his head. “Near the snack table, huh? Should’ve been my first guess where to look for ya.” </p><p>As Paul heard this man say what he said to John, he became scared for his life. One, he addressed him as <em> John</em>, as if they were friends. Two, this man called John an idiot! And three, he nearly insulted him with a lighthearted joke. But his worries soon vanished when he observed how John laughed, even placing his hand over his stomach to control the giggles. It was such a foreign view to see such a stubborn, cold, hard-headed man smiling and laughing. Though Paul had never seen John do it often—or, at all—he immediately adored the sight. <em> Why doesn’t he smile more often? It suits him well.  </em></p><p>“You fucking bastard, Georgie,” John responded, lightly punching his friend. “I was taking care of a cat-fight between two of my actors.” He turned to face Paul, his demeanor changing in an instant - playful to serious. “This is Paul, George. One of my actors I had to calm down.” </p><p>George looked up and down at Paul’s body, landing his eyes back up at the other’s gaze, giving him a fond smile. “Oh, Paul! Yes, I've seen you around! I haven’t had the privilege to size you yet. But such a beautiful face you’ve got there!” He looked over at John, grinning, “A beautiful face this one has, doesn't he?” </p><p>John raised his eyebrows, dumbfounded at the intrusive question. He already doesn’t like Paul as it is, must he be forced to boost this man’s ego? “Not my place to say,” was all he could think of to say. Though what he said was a lie, he wasn’t going to ever admit that Paul might’ve ranked up next to Marlon, Dean, or Perkins. Over his dead body. </p><p>But George shook his head, turning to Paul, who was blushing like mad from the attention he was being given. George leaned into him and whispered, “He’s just saying that. Find him on a good day and he might just admit you’re the best looking man he’s ever laid eyes on.” </p><p>“What’d ya fucking need, George. My time’s precious, y’know,” John interrupted, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground with a serious look slapped on his face. “If you don’t need anything then ya can get back to work.” </p><p>George rolled his eyes, not having any of the attitude his friend was giving him. “Calm your tits, John. I needed to ask you if you’re still meeting me and Robert tonight at Scavies?” </p><p>It was an off-topic question from work, but since George was John’s very good friend, he let it slide. He pulled his sleeve up and looked at his watch, seeing it was almost time to wrap shooting up, then his mind went to Cynthia. He pursed his lips, thinking if she would be mad if he went out tonight. Well, John had been working hard all week, dealing with stresses left and right, so she should be ok with it. Why wouldn’t she? “Uhm, yes, I’ll be there. What time?” </p><p>“Seven. Sound good? I leave work in ten minutes, and I plan to meet Bob in his flat after.” </p><p>John nodded. “Okay, yeah, that sounds fine.” </p><p>“What about Paul here?” George questioned. “Does he wanna come along too, John? He can if he wants. Don’t want him feeling left out, do we?” </p><p>“Yes, actually, <em> we do</em>. Plus, he’s got to memorize more of his lines and work on his expressions. He’s got no time for getting drunk in a bar. Right, McCartney?” </p><p>Paul looked at John’s face and nodded in reply. He wouldn’t dare disagree with a man who had more authority over him. He would be daft to do so. “Right. Of course. Work is more important.” </p><p>“Yeah,” George scoffed. “Okay, whatever. You know, Lenny, you gotta let some of the guys have some fun. Paul included.” He turned to the actor, smiling at him. “Come if ya want. Ya don’t have to listen to John.” </p><p>“Sod off, Hazza! Get on outta here before I fire yer arse.” </p><p>George humorously grinned at John’s rebuttal, noticing he pulled some of his friend’s Liverpool dialect out of him. He walked off with a skip in his step, knowing he brought out a wave of playful anger in John. Only God knew when that man actually enjoyed life and smiled, so he was determined to always bring it out in him, even if it didn’t work all the time. But even then, George knew John was suppressing a smile, and that was good enough. </p><p>Paul looked over at John to see he was pressing his lips into a thin line as his arms were crossed across his chest. His face was unreadable - as always, so he couldn’t make out what he was thinking. </p><p>“I don’t think I’ll go, so you don’t have to worry about that.” </p><p>John turned to Paul, processing what the young man had said a few seconds later. “I wouldn’t waste a second worrying about you,” he spoke nonchalantly, turning and walking away. John knew he could be blunt, and being blunt came with being rude sometimes, but he didn’t care. At least, not at that moment. It was true what he said, though, he couldn’t find one reason why he should waste a sweat worrying about anyone, <em> maybe </em>only Cynthia. But if Paul came to the bar unannounced, then whatever. John had better things to worry about. </p><p>“I know, Cynthia. I’ll be home at a reasonable hour. And I’ll make it up to you on Sunday.” John had been reasoning with his wife over the phone for the past five minutes. It was unlike him to call to tell her where he was going out, but he felt like she was at least owed that, for all the crap he put her through. </p><p>He could hear her sigh through the phone - a sigh full of disappointment and resentment. This instantly made him question why she was with him still. They both knew she could find a better man who would be willing to put in the time to make her happy and feel loved. Sometimes he’d wished she would come up to him and smack him in the face and yell: “I want a divorce!” Oh, how that would make his life easier. </p><p>And happier too. </p><p>Would it make him happier? If Cynthia left him? Leave... as in abandon? Would he benefit from it or would it be another insecurity waiting to happen? <em> Cynthia divorced me; she left me. No one loves me; they all leave. </em>Maybe he wouldn't want that to happen after all. </p><p>“John, did you hear me?” </p><p>John grimaced at his dissociation. “Uh… Sorry, love. Could you repeat that? My head was somewhere else.”</p><p>Another sigh of disappointment left Cynthia. “Nothing, John. Go, then. Do as you please.” </p><p>“Cyn—” The noise over the line indicating she hung up cut him off. He groaned in frustration and slammed the phone against the receiver. Fine. If she wanted to be so damn rude, then he’ll do what he damn pleases. He threw his coat on, not bothering to button himself up before he went into the cold weather. </p><p>Entering the bar was like entering a coal mine. Smoke lingering in the air from men and women holding cigarettes in their hands, inhaling and exhaling as if <em>that </em>would make all their problems and stresses away. The smell of alcohol was nice, though, already being intoxicated by the smell itself, and John couldn’t help but already want to ask for one, but he decided to look for George and Robert first. Through the polluted air and crowd, he rummaged through trying to look for them and finally standing before them while they were seated in a booth, smiling and talking. George had turned his head from the presence he felt right next to him. “John!” He exclaimed happily, standing and heading to hug him briefly. “When the fuck did you get here? Robbie and I thought you were gonna be a no-show.” </p><p>John nodded, sitting next to George after their hug. “Had to talk with the wife first. She’s not too happy I’m coming here at such a late hour, but as of right now, I couldn’t care less what she thinks.” </p><p>Robert laughed, shaking his head at John. “You really know how to pull heads, don’t ya, Johnny? Want me to get ya a drink?” He asked as he stood up, already walking over to the bar, not waiting for his friend’s response, which made John furrow his eyebrows in confusion. </p><p>“He’s already drunk,” whispered George, leaning into John. “We both know the man can’t hold any ounce of alcohol for his life.” </p><p>“Hmm. Yeah, that should’ve been obvious. When do you think he’s gonna go get some help with that problem?”  </p><p>“Probably when you get some help yourself,” George bluntly stated, taking a sip from his bottle quickly after he said that. </p><p>“What do you mean?” </p><p>Fortunately for George, he didn’t need to give a response because Robert was coming with more drinks, which made George eternally grateful that he didn’t have to elaborate on what he meant. </p><p>“Drinks for depressed bastards at table 4! Move along you fuckin’ cunts!” Robert was yelling loudly as he was making his way to their table, then clinging the drink against the wooden surface. “The bartender almost didn’t give me these drinks. Canyoufuggingbelieveit? Had to almost suck his cock for these, so savor each sip lads!” </p><p>No matter how embarrassing or of a fool Robert was, he never failed to make his friends laugh, even with the dumbest things he could ever say. John banged the table with his hand, covering his stomach with the other from giggling so hard. George, however, was covering his mouth trying to suppress himself from anymore laughs escaping. They both looked at each other in the midst of their laughing session, somehow telepathically communicating that they couldn't get this laugh out of anyone else. </p><p>“What’s so funny?” Robert asked, clueless of his unintentional humor. </p><p>“Yer a fucking idiot sometimes, Bobby,” quipped John, grabbing his drink and taking a sip from it. “How’s your new job anyway?” </p><p>Robert shrugged, not showing any interest to talk about it. “It’s alright,” was all he responded with, only because he hated his new job. Working as a bus driver wasn’t anyone’s dream in their life. And the criticism he would get from his family didn’t help, nor the constant shit he would put up with daily from the passengers. He swore sometimes he didn’t get paid enough, but he constantly reminded himself he was doing it for him and his son. Without his son, he might as well give up on life, but being a father gave him a purpose that he needed to fulfill - provide for his son, so he can go on to have a good life. “But I’m only going on for My Nicky.” </p><p>John nodded, admiring his friend for supporting his son. He aspired to be a father like him one day, and unlike his own father who walked out on him while he was still beginning to learn how to walk. “Well, then, how’s Nick doing, anyway?” </p><p>A smile lifted across the corners of Robert’s lips as he thought of his beloved boy. The only thing he could think about clearly while drunk. “He’s doing okay. School is much his thing. He loves maths mostly and doing the homework. Very unlike me, but much like his mother.” </p><p>John watched as Robert gulped another drink, watching as his Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed the liquid. He knew that was one of his reasons for his excessive drinking - his late wife. And John couldn’t blame him - losing a wife to breast cancer - how could he at least not lose a little bit of himself? He reached out across the table and laid his hand on Robert’s wrist, giving him one of the rarest looks of sincerity. “As I’ve said before, Bobby, if you need any money, I won’t hesitate to help you out.” </p><p>Pride took over Robert’s body as he heard those words. As much as he loved John and was appreciative of the help he was offering, he couldn’t bring himself to accept any money from his friend, even if he knew John was a walking ATM. So, he shook his head, declining politely. “Mmmm… I’m alright, John. Don’t need your money. I’m gonna get another drink.” </p><p>“No, I don’t think you should, Robert. I think you’ve had enough.” </p><p>“Pipe of me arse, yeah, Lennon? I’ll get another drink if I want I’m payin’ for it.”</p><p>Before John could reply, Robert turned around and stumbled to the counter again. He turned to face George and observed the quietness that took over him, John’s eyebrows crinkled and another concerned look took over him. “Alright, George?” </p><p>“...Uh, yeah. I just… I hope Bobby will be alright. I hate seeing him like this.” </p><p>John sighed heavily, pursing his lips, replying, “I know, Georgie, me too. But he’ll be alright. Fucking untouchable our Rob is, isn’t he?” </p><p>“Yeah, I guess,” George chuckled, going in for another sip of his drink. “Hey—” He quipped. “Isn’t that Paul?” </p><p>John was sure he was joking when he heard that, but when he turned to see for himself what George was looking at, he almost coughed back up his alcohol. He watched as Paul started walking into the bar, looking around the place as if he were in a foreign country. The man looked like he was lost for a second, which he could’ve been - John had never seen him at Scavies, not once, not ever, until now. Was he meeting up with some friends? Was he trying to look for him? What the hell was he doing here? Especially after he instructed him <em>not </em>to come here, and after Paul had told him he wasn’t coming. But… But why was John so curious? He shouldn't be. If he wanted to come here - <em> fine</em>. Whatever. He scoffed and turned back around, looking at George who was already strangely looking at him. </p><p>“Whadya lookin’ at?” John asked spitefully. </p><p>George raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just uh… you look tense.” </p><p>“Well if I’m fucking tense, then it’s either because of my wife or because you’re always trying to meddle into my shit!” John spat, his eyes burning with flames at his friend who only wanted to help. After his two-second outburst, he realized, again, that he was being a jerk to George. He took his eyes off the table and looked to see George who was playing with his fingers. “...Aye, I’m sorry for yelling. That was dumb of me, I know.” </p><p>“It’s fine. I should be allowed to hit ya by now without any repercussions, y’know. The amount of shit you put me through.” </p><p><em> The amount of shit I put everyone through. Why hasn’t everyone left me by now? </em>“Next time I act like a dick, you can have a throw at me, aye? God knows I deserve it.” After hearing George chuckle, John knew he was on his good side again. That is if he doesn’t fuck up again. It was like he was bound to mess something up, so he had to be cautious of every move he made because of it. But the word “cautious” sometimes meant “careless” to John, depending on the time of day. </p><p>After a few minutes, Robert’s drunk self came wobbling back to the table with more drinks. He and George got lost in a side conversation about George’s brother who was currently looking for a job. John would have loved to join in the conversation, but he was struggling with that damned wannabe actor; he kept telling himself not to try and look for Paul, but it was as if it were inevitable, and his eyes started roaming around the room for him. Why? John couldn’t answer that. Earlier he said he couldn’t care less about that man, but now he was struggling with himself not to find him. Maybe this was the time he should’ve started questioning his sanity. Because any other sane director wouldn’t care so much about what one of their actors was doing outside of work on a Saturday night. </p><p>He couldn’t find Paul. Weird. He had just seen him walk in, and with the amount of charisma he surprisingly held, it shouldn’t be that hard to spot him. Maybe he had left, decided he had enough of this kind of scene. John’s curiosity soon died down and he had no choice but to join in on George and Robert’s conversation. </p><p>George was in the middle of explaining to Robert that his brother had attempted to interview for one job as a receptionist, but his brother didn’t get it because he “failed to look the part”. </p><p>“Failed to look the part? The fuck does that even mean?” </p><p>John laughed and interrupted to end Robert’s confusion. “They want women as receptionists, you idiot. Ya think men are gonna wanna walk in and drool over a mini George? The bigger the tits, the more likely it is that customer’s gonna come back to get another glance at ‘em. More business basically, Bobby.” Then he turned to George, staring him up and down. “Your brother doesn’t have tits by any chance, does he, Hazza?” </p><p>“Oi, fuck off, John. You’re a right twit sometimes, I hope you know that.” </p><p>“I know that, Georgie. But ya gotta admit, that’s why you love me,” John responded, playfully leaning in for a kiss as he puckered his lips. </p><p>“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” George retaliated, looking at him with demeaning eyes. </p><p>John wrinkled his nose in frustration. He suddenly felt the urge to pee and stood up, mumbling to his friends that he’d be back in a bit. He shoved hastily through bodies of people so he didn’t accidentally piss his pants, throwing a bit of ‘get the fuck out of the way’ here and there. Once he made it to the door, he suddenly paused, stopping himself before he went in any further because of the faint yelling he heard coming from inside the bathroom. It was probably louder but the accumulated sounds inside the bar drowned out most of what John was trying to hear as he put his ear against the door, trying to listen. He surrendered to that tactic when he couldn’t hear a goddamn thing. So instead, he slightly opened the door to take a peek inside, and he nearly pissed himself in the process. </p><p>There seemed to be a man being cornered by two burly men who were threatening his life if he didn’t… pay? What the fuck did this man need to pay for? John didn’t know whether to leave or go in and try to help this man out. Why was he always the one walking into shit like this? Never could he catch a break. </p><p>Before John tried to walk in, he reached in for his wallet and checked how much spare money he had with him. “Shit,” he muttered to himself. It wasn’t a lot, but it may be enough for whoever got themselves into this mess. He took a deep breath before walking in, turning on his unreadable face. As he walked in, the two men turned to face him, snarling at him immediately as a warning to get the hell out. </p><p>“Hello, gentlemen. I… uh— Do you mind if I use the toilet?” </p><p>“Out!” One of the men yelled. </p><p>John’s face remained calm, he couldn’t let <em>these </em>guys know he was scared shitless. The men turning around gave him a clear view to see who was being trapped in the corner of the tiled restroom. <em> Paul?! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!  </em></p><p>“How much does he owe you, fellas? I can give it to you right now,” John said, pulling his wallet out with ease, to let these men know he didn’t want trouble. “10? 20—” he couldn't finish speaking because one of the men snatched his wallet and took all the cash he had inside, leaving nothing but one photograph of him and Cynthia. John decided to keep quiet, letting the man do so, not wanting to get into any more turmoil. </p><p>“Hey!” Paul yelled out at the two men, causing John to look at him in shock, and also giving him a look of ‘shut up’. “<em> You </em>— You can’t take his fucking money like that! I know I owed you both less—” His provocative words angered the tallest one out of the two, swinging at him without warning, making Paul fall to the floor in less than a second. </p><p>John wanted to call out to Paul and make sure he was alright, but he couldn’t. He stood frozen in panic, too scared to make a move. He didn’t want to piss these guys off like Paul did, getting decked in the face as well. </p><p>The other guy who watched his friend continue to hit Paul, turned to John, walking toward him, and grabbing him by his collar. He breathed heavily onto John, seethed through his teeth as he said: “Don’t tell <em>anyone </em>we were here. Understood?!” John could only nod, trying his best not to appear terrified, but he failed that. </p><p>The man turned around and watched as his friend was still harming Paul. “Coin!” He shouted, finally seeing his partner let go of Paul and turned to face him. “Leave him alone, you fucking idiot! C’mon!”</p><p>John watched as the two men left in a rush. He felt like he could finally breathe, letting himself loosen up, but remembered Paul. The poor man was lying on the ground, still as a fucking rock. John cursed himself as he rushed to Paul, shaking him carefully. “Paul? Paul? Paul, can you hear me?” </p><p>“I… I… D… Danny?” Paul mumbled so quietly that John almost didn’t hear it. But he did. And it made him confused, questioning to himself who he was muttering about. </p><p>“No, not <em> Danny</em>. This is John. Your director. Your boss. C’mon, Lad, how do you feel?” </p><p>Paul opened his eyes slowly, coming back to reality second by second, and registering where he was again. “I… I don’t f-feel… good. My face hurts,” he whimpered.</p><p>“I know it hurts, son.” John felt bad as he continued to stare at Paul’s face. There was blood dripping from his nose and his lip appeared to be busted, along with fresh bruising forming along under his right eye. “That bastard didn’t need to hit you so damn hard. Or at <em>all</em>,” John snapped, realizing how badly the young man was hurt. “But uh… can you stand? Do you think you can move?” </p><p>“I… I don’t know. I wanna go home.” </p><p>John’s eyebrows furrowed, sighing sympathetically. “You will soon, love. Can you at least try? For me?” </p><p>Paul nodded, groaning as he slowly tried to move. “Mmm… it hurts.” </p><p>“Okay, uh… how about—” The sound of the restroom door opening cut John off, who was ready to yell at the person to leave as he tried to handle this situation on his own, but he realized it was George who walked in, causing him to soften his hardened gaze. “George?” </p><p>“Uh, yeah? I came lookin’ for ya, wondering where the hell you were. Wasn’t sure if you were taking a shit or just left the damn place.” Once George’s eyes averted to the ground where Paul was lying, his expression changed, rushing to the young man to see if he needed help. “What the hell happened to Paul?! Did you do this, John? I know you don’t like him, but it doesn’t give you the right—”</p><p>“You can stop right there, mate,” John interrupted harshly. “I wouldn’t do that to him. He got into a bit of trouble with these other fellas and now well, here he is.” </p><p>“We need to take him to the hospital, John. He looks terrible,” George responded, examining Paul’s face as his eyes traced over every scratch and bleeding injury. </p><p>“The hospital?” John bit his lip, immediately wondering how this could affect the shooting dates for the film. All the scenes with Paul would have to get pushed back if his stay in the hospital would be long. Why couldn’t he just rest at home? It would be much easier and more convenient. “I— I’m pretty sure he’s fine. Just needs rest—”</p><p>“John!” George scolded him, giving him a deadly look. </p><p>John put his hands up in defeat. “Alright. Let’s take him to the hospital then.” <em> Christ</em>. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Full Hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm sorry for not updating sooner! hopefully, this is an alright chapter. hope you enjoy!! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired of being so alone.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> No place to call my own.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Like a—  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Like a what?  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John scribbled the whole box of words out on the yellowed piece of paper in his tiny journal. A journal he kept in the front pocket of his trousers just in case he felt the urge to doodle or write words that came to him. The urge had just come a few seconds ago while he was sitting next to  Paul’s hospital bed, but it was now gone since he couldn’t think of anything else to write. </p>
<p>John silently closed the leather journal and stuffed it back into his pocket. A small, tired sigh elicited from his throat as he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. The previous night and early morning had been rough on him. As soon as John got to the hospital last night with George and Robert, all carrying Paul, he offered to be the one to stay the night to look after the injured actor. Robert would’ve stayed, but he had work early in the morning, so staying wasn’t an option. And John was the one who convinced a concerned George to leave and go home to get a good night’s sleep as he had work the next day too. It was only after five minutes of persuading that George agreed but promised to stop by during the following afternoon to see how Paul was doing. </p>
<p>Which left John looking after a sleeping Paul for the past 12 hours. During those eventful hours, he made sure to call Brian and Mal to fill them in on what happened to their “beloved star” of the film. It worried them both from the news John gave them, and they also promised to stop by the next morning to check on Paul. </p>
<p>This whole ordeal also meant that they had to make changes to almost <em>everything</em>. From the looks of what John could see, Paul was in not so terrible shape, but enough to give a scare to random strangers on the streets. Even when Paul was mildly healed up and allowed to go home, there was no way he would be fit to be filmed on a camera — maybe with a small application of makeup, he could be. But until Paul was fully healed, they would all have to adapt to their new environment. </p>
<p>John looked back down from the ceiling and wished there was a bed for him to lay on and sleep. The only bed available was the bed Paul was lying in, and even though he was occupying the bed, it was tempting to just jump in and fall into a deep slumber. John could fall asleep in the chair he was sitting in, but there wasn’t a comfortable enough position to relax in. In the meantime, he would just have to sacrifice a few more hours of sleep. </p>
<p>His eyes averted to Paul, who was sleeping in the bed. The young man lied there with so many bruises that it made John sick to his stomach. As much as he despised Paul, there was no justifiable reasoning for that <em>one </em>specific man to hurt Paul the way he did — he didn’t deserve it. If anything was brewing in John’s mind right now, it was the guilt that was unwillingly forming in his head. Something inside of him regretted not keeping a better eye on Paul. <em> Possibly </em>just two-second glances here and there to see what Paul was doing could’ve prevented what happened to him last night. </p>
<p>The sound of stirring and moaning caused John to sit up in his chair with a concerned expression as he was looking at Paul who was waking up. The younger man groaned and furrowed his eyebrows, looking as if he were experiencing pain in his subconscious state of mind. John wanted to somehow help but knew he couldn’t. Inaudible mumbling started to escape between Paul’s lips, which made John even more confused about what he was trying to say. </p>
<p>“Mmmh… Dan—<em> John </em>?”  </p>
<p>“Aye, that’s my name, son.” John leaned on the bed, staring at Paul intently. “You look like shit, by the way.” </p>
<p>Paul smiled a little. “I figured just as much.” </p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” </p>
<p>Hearing that tone from John almost made Paul faint again. It was <em>too </em>gentle and soft that John could’ve fooled him into thinking he was another man. “Head hurts a bit, feels a bit sore, and my face too, but other than that, I feel fantastic.” </p>
<p>“Better than last night, yes?” </p>
<p>“Yes. Better than last night.” </p>
<p>“Mm, that’s good.” John sighed, leaning back into his chair. “Make yourself comfortable, McCartney. We’ve got a full house coming. Brian and Mal are coming in a little while and so is George. Maybe even my mother will stop by, who knows.” </p>
<p>Paul became confused, not knowing if John saying his mother would stop by was a joke or not. Either way, he knew that Mal, Brian, and George coming couldn’t have been a joke, and he was flattered they would come to visit. Paul supposed Brian and Mal didn’t have a choice as he worked for both of them, but still. </p>
<p>“That’s nice of them,” Paul finally spoke. “And you stayed the night?” </p>
<p>John looked down from Paul’s gaze and into his lap, not knowing how to answer that without <em>directly </em>answering. “Aye, suppose I did.” </p>
<p>“Uh… well, you didn’t have to do that... so thank you.” </p>
<p>John scoffed looking back up at Paul. “Don’t thank me for something I was forced to do. George wanted to stay and look after you himself, but he has to work today. Then I assured his rambling arse that I would stay instead so he could get good rest before he clocks in. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have stayed at all." </p>
<p>Just when Paul thought he and John were getting somewhere, the progress would set back to zero every time. And not to say John’s response didn’t hurt him, but it made him wonder why he always felt the need to respond with harsh words. “I take my thanks back then,” Paul replied in a sarcastic tone that was meant to lighten the tense mood John created. </p>
<p>“Last night,” John blurted after a few minutes of silence. “Mind telling me why the hell you got yourself in a brawl that could’ve gotten you killed?” </p>
<p>Paul wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer that or not. Telling John everything would only result in a lecture, and he didn’t want to be spoken to like he was a damn child. But then Paul remembered that John was the one who saved his ass, unfortunately, so he sort of owed him an explanation in a way. </p>
<p>“It was a game of poker,” Paul spoke, wanting it to keep it simple. “I betted money I didn’t have, thinking I would win, but I lost. And… you know how that ends.” </p>
<p>“I hope you know how much of an absolute idiot you are for that. You could’ve died, Paul! You should think next time before you do shit like that. You think I need to go around casting another Oliver?” </p>
<p>“Well that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Paul spitefully asked, because as of right now, John was the one and <em>only </em>person he despised. The constant immature behavior from him combined with the raging headache pressing on his temples was an inevitable result of lashing out on Paul’s part. “You wanted a new Oliver anyway, right? To get rid of me and hire a more capable actor? So why would it matter to you if I died?! <em> Christ </em>...” </p>
<p>The silence in the room resumed once again. John was left stunned in his chair at a loss for words. He was desperately trying to think of something in his head to use as a rebuttal, but nothing clever was brewing because Paul’s words were in the way of his thinking. <em> Why did it matter if Paul lived or not? </em> It shouldn’t. John would get a new Oliver like he wanted — straight from Paul’s mouth. It frustrated John how his own words had contradicted his mindset. If Paul did die from the beating yesterday, then oh well. It would benefit John more than hurt him. </p>
<p>John sat up in his chair, putting his elbow on his knee to rest and his curled-up fist beneath his chin. There was a smug smirk creeping upon his lips. “You’re right, Paul. My apologies. I owe thanks to you for setting me straight because I couldn’t care less if you died or not. I would simply celebrate and jump for joy!” John laughed mockingly and stood up from his chair, heading for the door. “So thank you for those words of yours. What would I do without you?” John turned around and left the room to head to the cafeteria. He just about had enough with everything and his grumbling stomach was more important to tend to.</p>
<p>As John walked out of the hallway, he then stood before the nurse station, where a few nurses stood and sat, looking at files or catering to other people’s questions or concerns. John did have a question — more of a demand — so he started looking for Nurse Judy. Nurse Judy was the one who was helping him with any questions concerning Paul, which she did all night because John wouldn’t stop blabbering about the worries he had. The middle-aged lady wasn’t hard to miss, especially with her fiery red hair and a contagious smile that shines beautifully. Nurse Judy was maybe the only person to be on John’s good side without even having to try. </p>
<p>“Oh well, hello John!” Nurse Judy smiled as she spoke to the young man who was now leaning on the counter. “How are we doing?” </p>
<p>“Fine. Thank you, Dear. I have a request actually for Paul Mccartney who’s in 219 right now. Could you maybe stop by and check on him? His head has been hurting and all, so maybe you can give him something for that?” </p>
<p>Nurse Judy smiled and nodded, taking note of the sincerity in John’s eyes. “Of course I can. I’ll check on him right now, how’s that?” </p>
<p>“That would be lovely, thank you, Judy.” John nodded his head as thanks and walked off in the direction of the cafeteria. </p>
<p>Back in room 219, Paul lied in the bed staring straight across at a blank, baby-blue wall. The decor was vague, only having a painting to the right displaying a war, but instead of humans fighting, they were bears. Other than that, it was the blandest room he’s been in and he hated it. The feeling of being tied down to a bed for a length at a time was torture. The urge to get up and do what he pleases was pulsating throughout his body, but he knew he couldn’t do that, especially with the pain he was feeling. And it didn’t help that John Lennon caused him even more of a damn headache — that man was a nuisance. But he was only a nuisance when he acted like a cold, rude brat who didn’t care about other people’s feelings. Aside from that, Paul didn’t mind the other traits John carried. He was stubborn, the most stubborn man Paul has come across, but he didn’t mind it. If anything, he quite liked the willfulness in John. It reminded him of a <em> certain </em>someone sometimes, which made him feel a familiar warmness that he missed.</p>
<p>It sometimes felt like a mission to get on John’s good side. It was probably a mission to most people, but more so to Paul. It was odd how a man could be so cruel to everyone without even giving them a chance. It made Paul wonder what the hell happened in John’s life to mold him into the man he is today. Paul knew John put up walls around himself as most people do, but John’s walls were impossible to get through, even for a simple, professional relationship between a director and an actor. Paul wasn’t sure if he would ever have an understanding acquaintanceship with John. But he was only going to be working for John for about three months. He would never see him again after this, so what would be the point in trying to attempt to get to know John? Nothing. It would be a waste of time, and he would only make himself a fool in the end. </p>
<p>Paul groaned as these thoughts were making his headache worse. And as he was about to call for a nurse, there came a light knock coming from the door. The door slowly opened and a nurse came in, an older lady with two cups in her right hand. Paul tried to match her bright, red smile as he attempted to sit up, watching her approach the bed. </p>
<p>“Oh honey, how are you feeling? A little birdie told me you weren’t doing so well.” The nurse placed the tiny cups on the bedside and gave her full attention to Paul. </p>
<p>“A little birdie?” Paul questioned, immediately wondering who could that be. It could’ve only been John, right? It had to be him. John was the only one he told about his head aching. “I’ve been… my head’s been killing me.” </p>
<p>Nurse Judy giggled, nodding. “Yes, that’s what your little birdie told me. Anyway, I brought you some medication that should help with that.” </p>
<p>Paul eagerly took the two cups that Nurse Judy handed him. One was filled with a bit of water, and the other was filled with two pills. Not thinking twice, Paul lifted the cup to his mouth and let the pills fall, and washed down with water soon after. The sense of relief overflowed him as he felt the pills settle inside of him along with the water. “That’s good, thank you.” </p>
<p>“Nurse Lydia will be your nurse during the day, just so you know. I’ll come back again in the evening. I’ll see you until then.” Nurse Judy smiled and waved at Paul, wishing him the best once more before she left. </p>
<p>Just as Paul felt himself relaxing, sinking himself into his pillow and feeling a little better already from the pills, the door opened, which made him annoyed until he saw who it was. </p>
<p>“George?” Paul asked, sitting up again. George walked in with a bundle of colorful, floating balloons in his hand that had positive sayings on them, along with a fluffy teddy bear and card in the other. “What are you doing here?” </p>
<p>George smiled, walking up to Paul and giving him the teddy bear and card, then tying the balloons to the arm of the wooden chair in the corner. “I came to see you, of course, but I can only stay for a bit. How are you feeling?” </p>
<p>Paul answered the question as he looked inside the card which had a “get well” message scribbled in blue ink. “I’m feeling better than I did a few minutes ago. The nurse came in and gave me some painkillers for my headache.” </p>
<p>“That’s good,” George replied, making himself comfortable in the wooden chair that John was occupying earlier.</p>
<p>“I thought you were supposed to be at work. That’s what John told me.” </p>
<p>George giggled a little before saying: “I am supposed to be at work, but we’re all on break right now. They won’t even notice I’m gone.” He winked at Paul, which made him laugh. “Anyway. Speaking of John, where is he? I thought he was here watching you?” </p>
<p>“He left earlier, but I’m not sure where to,” Paul answered. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he left, especially after being <em> forced </em>to stay here.” </p>
<p>George’s eyebrows furrowed, watching as Paul sunk himself further into his sheets as he mumbled that last part. “Forced? Who said he was forced to stay here? John was the first one to volunteer to stay the night. I offered too, but the stubborn bastard convinced me to go home because of work.” </p>
<p>Paul pouted his lips, questioning to himself why John would lie to him. “Really? He did? He uh… I think I misunderstood him.” </p>
<p>“Aye, he’s a hard one to understand, hm?” </p>
<p>“A bit, but I suppose he has his reasons for that.”</p>
<p>George smiled. “He does. He’s been through a lot, My John. Ever since he was a—” He cut himself, pursing his lips into a thin line, rethinking what he was going to say. “Well, I suppose that isn’t my story to tell. Let’s just say he isn’t as cold as he lets others believe.” </p>
<p>“I had a…<em> friend </em>like John once,” Paul spoke in a low voice. “Every time I’m around John, he reminds me of that friend. I’m fond of it, though, the way John is — witty and adamant. I’ve ended up warming up to it. Of course, John can reach my nerves like no other, but other than that, he’s… good.” </p>
<p>“Who’s this John-like friend of yours?” George asked, tilting his head in piquing interest. </p>
<p>Paul laughed, fiddling with his fingers as his mind remembered so many memories at once. “We were friends way back when I was younger. And let’s just say he’s not—” He stopped as the door opened and in came John. <em> Speak of the devil.  </em></p>
<p>“Well fuck me silly, I forgot someone stole my bloody money! I stood there with a tray of food looking like an idiot, not knowing how to pay!” John exclaimed as he stormed in. Paul had to bite back a laugh as he watched John vent. “Oh. Hi, George. When did you get here?”</p>
<p>“A little while ago,” George responded. “Everyone’s on break right now, but I actually have to leave right now.” </p>
<p>“Oh, so you want to leave right when I get here, is that it?” John asked. “And can you get the fuck out of my seat, <em> please </em>?” </p>
<p>George laughed, wanting nothing more than to throw his friend across the room to shut him up. “Stop being insecure, you idiot. My break is almost over. Don’t want to be late, do I?” George turned to Paul, smiling with a sympathetic look on his face. “I’ll see you later, okay? And make sure to rest enough.” </p>
<p>“I will. Thanks for stopping by, George.” Paul put his hand up, waving goodbye to George as he walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. </p>
<p>“Surely nice of him to give you all of this then, isn’t it?” John asked as he looked at the balloons and teddy bear George had given Paul not too long ago. “If I would’ve known you like all this, then I would’ve bought a rose for you at the gift shop.” </p>
<p>“Couldn’t buy a rose without any money, could you? Besides, I’m more of a carnation kind of guy.” Paul observed as he got a good reaction out of John from his small joke. A small smile that eventually turned into a chuckle. It was small, not much, but enough to allow Paul to adore him for a few seconds. It wasn’t every day when Paul could see John in such a light — relaxed and <em>himself? </em>“You should do that more often,” Paul blurted, gripping his bedsheets tighter once he realized what he said. </p>
<p>“Do what?”</p>
<p>Paul cleared his throat, trying to gain a little bit of confidence. “Smile, I mean. It looks good on you.” </p>
<p>John laughed nervously, not knowing what to think. Was it an insult? Or a genuine compliment? No <em>man </em>has ever said that to him, so to hear that was confusing. “And you should stop talking, you’re bloody annoying.” </p>
<p>“Forgive me, <em> Sir</em>, for trying to compliment you. Next time, I'll express how much of a dick you are, instead,” Paul spat, shutting his eyes close and resting his head against his pillow, emerging all his frustration into the air through a heavy sigh. </p>
<p>“Your head injury is making you quite bold with your words, isn’t it?” John couldn’t help but fire away with another retort — that kind of behavior was naturally in him, no matter if he liked it or not. He glanced at Paul who was sulking with his eyes closed, making him want to roll his eyes. </p>
<p>A few minutes in silence, which they both enjoyed, was sadly interrupted by Mal and Brian who barged into the room. The two men had concerned expressions plastered over their faces, rushing to the foot of Paul’s bed, sort of shoving John out of the way. </p>
<p>“Goodness, son! What the hell did you get yourself into?” Brian frantically asked, eyeing Paul’s body up and down to check on all of the cuts and bruises on his body, but it was mostly his face that earned all the damage. “Have you lost your damn mind getting into whatever it is you got yourself into?!” </p>
<p>“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have been so careless last night.” Paul reluctantly sat up to better defend himself, putting one of his hands up as a surrender. “I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.” </p>
<p>Brian sighed, nodding his head. “Would you care to explain what happened to you at least?” </p>
<p>“I’d rather not. I want to forget about it, honestly. Is that alright?” </p>
<p>“Of course,” Mal intervened, then resting his hand on Paul’s shoulder for comfort, giving it a light squeeze. “We’re all glad you’re fine, though. Something worse could’ve happened, but it didn’t. That’s what we should be grateful for right now.” </p>
<p>“Okay sunshine, give the man his space. You’re probably going to squeeze him to death,” John said, pushing Mal’s hand away from Paul’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t you two talk about what you came here for?” </p>
<p>Brian threw a threatening expression toward him. “We came to see Paul, of course. But John’s right, now that we know you’re okay, we’ve got to talk about the film now. Since you’ve now damaged your pretty face, we’ve got to reschedule filming and shoot scenes that don’t include you. That is until we can cover his bruises with makeup.” </p>
<p>“How long is your stay here? Did anyone give you an estimated time?” Mal asked Paul, but he shrugged, not knowing anything else besides waking up with a foggy memory and a raging headache. </p>
<p>“Three days,” John interrupted, making everyone turn to him. The looks were unsettling him, already knowing what they were all thinking. “The nurse told me, you daft fools. About three days until he heals up — well, <em> slightly </em>heals up. Then he’ll be free to leave.” </p>
<p>It was a nice, warm feeling that surrounded Paul, knowing John knew all of this. Including when John made sure Nurse Judy gave him painkillers for his headache, and when he voluntarily stayed the night, even though he lied about it. John seemed to make it difficult for people to see the kinder side of him. Why was that? That part couldn’t be answered, but Paul had an idea as to why. Maybe John could open up to him about that one day. But even <em>that </em>was improbable because he and John weren’t even friends. It was tough since John didn’t let it go unnoticed that he was annoyed by Paul. To be fair, he was like that with everyone. </p>
<p>“When Paul’s stay is overdue, we might want him to rest a few more days before he’s ready to be on screen again,” Brian suggested. </p>
<p>“Not a bad idea,” John added, then turning to Paul. “Until then, Paul, you can lie on a soft, white cloud and watch us take care of the mess you made. How’s that?” </p>
<p>“John,” Brian muttered. </p>
<p>Paul shook his head. “It’s fine. It is my fault all this is happening, ruining everyone’s schedules and meetings and everything. I am truly sorry.” </p>
<p>“Everyone makes mistakes, Paul,” Mal spoke, reaching his hand to soothe Paul’s shoulder again. “Besides, maybe this will actually be good. The press might even be on this already.” </p>
<p>“Already?!” John exclaimed, smiling as he did, and his face lighting up. “How though? I mean, this is great! More press equals more publicity for the movie!” John turned to Paul, smirking at him. “So this is not <em> all </em> bad then.” </p>
<p>Mal cleared his throat. “Well, I said <em>might</em>. We’ve seen nothing in the morning papers or anything. Give it a day or two and the press will have headlines about Paul, meaning more coverage on the film, John. Just as you want, right?” </p>
<p>“Damn right that’s what I want. It’s what everyone else needs as a matter of fact.” John lifted his wrist and looked at the time on his watch. “Mm… Well, it looks like I have to go now. I have to get back to the wife, you know how she gets.” </p>
<p>”With having a husband like you, I wouldn’t blame her,” Mal responded quietly with his arms crossed against his chest. Paul and Brian laughed, meanwhile John lightheartedly laughed at the joke even if a small ounce of himself did get offended by that. </p>
<p>“You’re lucky you’re bigger and taller than me or else I would’ve had your head shoved up your arse by now, Mal.” John grabbed his coat and put it on, but before he left, he turned to Paul whispering, “If you… by any chance need me, have the nurse ring me up. You know, if you need me to tell you what a shit actor you are and all that.” </p>
<p>Paul smiled, taking in the few seconds of this warm John that seemed to switch on and off. “Oh, that sounds right up my alley. If it were up to me, I would just have you here all day and night, Mr. Lennon.” </p>
<p>John laughed lightly through his nose. “Cheeky bastard you are, McCartney.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>mmm ok maybe a bit boring, but the next chapter will be more interesting... hopefully. anyway, thanks for reading!<br/>and those lyrics are from john's song Scared at the beginning</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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